Travels in the Riel World

West Africa is not a heavily touristed place. It’s also not the first region that comes to mind when one contemplates great musical destinations. And yet there is a thriving music scene in Senegal, and especially in the capital city of Dakar, that would appeal to any musically inclined traveler. The NY Times just ran a travel piece that delves into the musical culture of Senegal.

When the sun dips behind the Atlantic, this gritty concrete metropolis — exhilarating, inventive, emotive — flares into a living jukebox of sounds with few African rivals…It should be a welcome moment in the spotlight for Dakar, one of the globe’s most dynamic yet least touristed music centers. With its bevy of international stars — Mr. N’Dour, the acoustic bard Ismael Lo, the adventurous singer-songwriter Baaba Maal — and an ever-increasing crop of new talents, the Senegalese capital is ripe for discovery.

“Dakar is one of the most musically vibrant cities in Africa,” says Simon Broughton, editor in chief of the Britain-based Songlines magazine, which last year began operating tours of the city and this month features Youssou N’Dour on its cover. “There’s a large number of clubs,” Mr. Broughton says, “and lots of music as part of the fabric of everyday life.”

If you venture to this West African nation, you’ll also be rewarded with a glimpse into the grim but friendly nature of African life, as described here by writer Seth Sherwood.

By day, the Dakar of Awadi’s people — poor, struggling, decaying, determined — comes vividly into view as I step out of the Hotel Farid into the hot, garbage-strewn streets of the city center.

Set against the glittering Atlantic, the grid of wide, French-built boulevards and crumbling narrow streets assaults the sensory apparatus at every entry point: the feel of dust and mosquitoes on the skin; the taste of exhaust fumes in the mouth; the smells of sweat and sewage and grilling meats in the nostrils; the chainsaw buzz of cheap scooters and the booming Muslim call to prayer echoing in the ears.

Even the short walk to the teeming indoor-outdoor Sandaga Market — where I head for local music CDs — brings all of Dakar’s contradictions to life. Gleaming Mercedes-Benzes crawl behind disintegrating jalopies and men pushing wheelbarrows. Art galleries and clothing boutiques nudge against cheap luncheonettes and abandoned storefronts. Suited Senegalese businessmen and Westerners … brush past homeless families sleeping on the sidewalk.

There’s no danger — Dakar by day is largely safe — only the constant scent of desperation mingled with a periodic whiff of prosperity.

At the market, everybody wants a piece of the foreigner’s purse. Roaming hawkers flash me batteries, SIM cards, Scrabble games and cheap backpacks, using every imaginable entreaty. “Hey, Mister! Where you from?” “Ça va, Monsieur? Qu’est-ce que vous cherchez?” “Shake my hand! Shake my hand! Obama! Obama!”

Check out the entire story, which provides an interesting overview of a little visited destination.

Whirling dervishes. The term is a familiar one to many people, but what exactly is a whirling dervish? That is, beyond some exotic Middle Eastern man who twirls round and round while dressed in a white robe and tall hat? Not many people know that the dance of a whirling dervish is actually a spiritual activity, most often performed by Sufi Muslim mystics. The Intelligent Travel blog of National Geographic Traveler recently published a spectator’s view of the whirling dervishes, complete with a video. It’s worth a look.

I first heard the term “Whirling Dervishes” as a young child and, reasonably enough, surmised that they were dervishes who loved to whirl. What a dervish was, exactly, remained a mystery to me until last Friday, when I stepped into a 500-year-old Turkish bathhouse (repurposed as the Hodjapasha Culture Center) in the Sirkeci area of old Istanbul. Here, monks of a mystical Sufi order of Muslims–known traditionally for their spirituality, self denial, and tolerance–perform a centuries-old dance ritual…

I glanced at the notes I had taken as our guide, Etem Öztürk, explained the significance of the dervishes’ clothing: “They wear tall felt hats, white gowns with long skirts, and black capes that they remove,” he said. “The hats represent tombstones. The gowns are burial shrouds. The black capes are the dirt of the grave.” The point of the ritual, Öztürk continued, was to leave everything of the world behind and to become one with God, with Allah. “That only truly happens in death,” he said. “These monks are mimicking death. When they’re performing, it’s as though they are dead.”

Fair enough, though, as we watched, the dervishes seemed quite alive to me, the hems of their gowns lifting centrifugally from the floor as they spun, always counterclockwise, sending a gentle breeze out over us spectators. I watched for the movements Öztürk had described: the tilting of the head, the opening of the arms–the palm of the right hand facing up, the left palm facing down, in order to transmit the positive energy of heaven earthward, spreading peace and wisdom.

We’re all familiar with the concept of UNESCO World Heritage Sites, which are natural and man-made destinations that represent the history and heritage of the world. Somewhat less familiar to most people are the newer UNESCO designations of Intangible Cultural Heritage, which honor such traditions as native music, dance, ritual or craftsmanship. This is meant to complement the list of physical sites, as UNESCO works to honor and protect the world’s cultural heritage. A number of traditions were recently added to the Intangible Cultural Heritage list, including the ever-popular tango dancing of Argentina and Uruguay.

The 24 members of UNESCO’s Intergovernmental Committee of Intangible Heritage granted the tango dance and its music protected cultural status at its meeting in Abu Dhabi.

The designation may make Argentina and Uruguay, which both claim to be tango’s birthplace, eligible to receive financial assistance from a specialized fund for safeguarding cultural traditions…

Argentina and Uruguay have long been embroiled in a clash over the birthplace of the great tango crooner Carlos Gardel. They kicked aside their differences last year in a joint effort to persuade UNESCO to list tango among UNESCO’s traditions worth safeguarding for humanity.

India’s Vedic chanting and Japan’s Kabuki theater are among the dozens of U.N. protected traditions.

You should check out this stunning collection of photographs of tango that was recently published on Boston.com. Or go here for a full list of the traditions that have been honored by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage. 

Recently, I showed you a road trip that delved into the roots of American music, with destinations connected to the birth of jazz, blues, soul, bluegrass, country and rock ‘n roll. But what about contemporary music? What are the best cities in North America today for music lovers? The Society of American Travel Writers recently chimed with a top 10 list of “best music cities.” The selections run the gamut of tastes and experiences, from Chicago blues to Nashville country. Here are a few of their choices:

New Orleans, Louisiana- “You can’t go to New Orleans without the music swallowing you whole.” –Lisa A. Tomaszewski, travel editor, HMP Communications.

Austin, Texas- “Austin is home to the yearly South by Southwest Music Festival, where nearly the entire city becomes a music venue for a week. There are hundreds of live shows a day, making it just as fun for locals as for industry executives.” –Joshua Hinsdale, freelance travel writer.

Nashville, Tennessee - “Nashville isn’t just the ‘home’ of country music. It’s the heart and soul of country music.” –Steve Winston, freelance travel writer.

Chicago, Illinois- “Chicago’s reputation as home of the blues can’t be understated, with live shows available at clubs every night. The diverse neighborhoods and city-sponsored events also offer live music, from Old Town School of Folk Music to Lollapalooza in Grant Park and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. It’s all here, all the time.” –Laurie Borman, freelance travel writer.

Check out the full article for information on New York, Memphis and other cities.

A lot of great music has been made in the United States, and much of it has roots in the South. In fact, if you journey through just a few southern states, you can have a fascinating time exploring the roots of jazz, blues, soul, bluegrass, country, and rock and roll. You can experience even more of the country’s musical heritage if you extend your explorations into the Midwest.

So if you’re interested in taking a pilgrimage into the roots of American music, you should check out this road trip that I created. It’s a two-part journey that enables you to explore much of the musical heritage of the United States. You can read my description of the trip here (and here), and use these Google maps to follow along.

View The roots of American music in a larger map

View The roots of American music (part two) in a larger map

Have you ever heard of the whirling dervishes? Have you ever seen a performance? The only one I ever saw was, oddly enough, in Egypt and not Turkey, which is the country more commonly associated with these spiritual dancers. Nevertheless, the performance by the lone dancer I saw was incredible. I couldn’t take my eyes off of this man as he spun around and around and around in circles. And so I could understand completely this short essay by James Fallows in The Atlantic, in which he described his inability to stop watching a whirling dervish whom he saw dance in a public square in Istanbul.

Across the square we glimpsed a tall, lean, broad-shouldered man standing motionless on an open-air stage. At tables around him people ate and drank, oblivious. The man wore a pure white jacket and skirt over white trousers, and a very tall dun-colored cylindrical hat. He looked straight ahead—and then, as music rose from the reed-flute player and the drummer seated next to him, he began to rotate exactly in place, faster and faster.

His white skirt stood out full around him; he extended his arms, airplane style, one pointed toward heaven and one toward Earth. He cocked his head so the long hat was parallel with his outstretched arms. And for improbable minutes and minutes, he turned.

During those minutes, we did not move, nor did our eyes ever leave him. He had put himself into a trance, and had done something similar to many of the onlookers, who one by one stopped whatever else they were doing to simply gaze.

Eventually the dancer slowed, then left the stage, with no acknowledgement of any sort to the crowd. He sat by himself at a table to recover, drinking water. During the rest of our time in the city we learned more about the symbols expressed in this dance—the eerie hat evoking the tombstone that awaits us all—and sought out other Mevlevi, in less obvious settings. And now, when I think of that dancer, I still hear the first notes from the reed flute, and see the look, into nothing, in his eyes.

Do you love to watch the tango? If, like writer Joe Ray, you’re obsessed by the sultry movements of the dancers and want to learn to tango yourself, you might want to do what he did and head to Buenos Aires for some lessons. He wrote about his experiences for the Boston Globe:

It’s every male wallflower’s dream: walk into a hall of beautiful people, choose the woman you would like as a partner, nod confidently in her direction, and watch as she meets you on the dance floor. One caveat: In this country, when you take her hand you had better know how to tango…

My obsession with the dance began in Paris where, weather permitting, a tango group meets a few times a week in an amphitheater on the banks of the Seine. The music caught me first: somehow light, sultry, and full of longing, with the accordion-like bandoneón grabbing my heartstrings as I rode by on my bicycle. I watched, entranced, trying to understand it all, but it seemed beyond me - everyone was doing different steps, forcing me to watch one couple at a time, and even then, I couldn’t figure it out. No matter. Simply watching and listening was a beautiful way to spend an evening.

In Buenos Aires, tango fanatic and area native Silvia Guzmán agrees to be my guide and immediately puts a finger on what fascinates me most about the dance.

“It’s three minutes of connection,” she says as we watch dancers go ’round in counterclockwise circles at the Salon Canning “milonga,” or tango hall. “You’re always right in front of your partner, never next to each other.”

The sensuality is delicious. We watch instructors call out a few steps - “uno, dos, tres” “apart, together, apart” - as his feet scissor in and out between hers, which flare in circles. When the class ends and the floor fills, people aren’t just connecting, they’re smoldering. I zero in on one couple and while their feet flit about, cat-and-mouse style, their heads touch, and their chests are pressed together. I might as well be staring through a bedroom window.

You’re in Buenos Aires. You want to dance the tango but you don’t have a partner. What’s a person to do? Hire a “tango taxi dancer,” according to this fun little story in Time magazine.

The Salon Canning is an authentic milonga, an unassuming hall in the old Palermo district of Buenos Aires where the entwined bodies of dancers gyrate into the wee hours to the tune of Argentina’s signature musical style, the tango. At one of the tables, a tall, dark-haired man scans the room with an alert gaze, his attention resting on the foreign women who sit alone at tables waiting patiently to be asked to dance.

He is not a tango instructor nor a gigolo or low-lifer eyeing the house for easy prey. Eduardo Amarillo is a “tango taxi dancer,” and his aim is to ensure that no tango-loving foreigner leaves Argentina without having twirled at least once around the floor…Two years ago, Amarillo launched a business providing a hassle-free dancing service for tourists, and today he heads a group of 25 male and female “tango taxi dancers” who charge $20 dollars an hour.

The decor at the Canning is austere. Bare walls surround square tables and plastic chairs. No one comes here expecting luxury; this place is all about dancing. An American woman who works as an executive in New York but preferred that her name be withheld sits at Amarillo’s table, eager to test the results of her tango lessons.

“When I booked the service I was nervous I might be inadvertently employing an escort service,” she confides. “But if you don’t know anybody and are staying for a short time at least you are guaranteed that you will get to dance.” She has no interest in the sexual promise packaged in one of the world’s most sensuous dance forms. “It’s not about sex, it’s about intimacy, a chance to be ‘there’ with another person for an incredibly intimate three minutes. It’s more a metaphysical than physical experience.”

Well, here’s a rare and unorthodox way to fund a round-the-world trip…

In 2003, Matt Harding posted on his website a video of himself dancing in a dozen countries.  As the video made its way around the web, it found its way into the offices of Stride gum company. The company then offered to fund a six-month trip anywhere Matt wanted to travel if he would make a travel-dancing video that could be marketed in conjunction with their new gum.  So Matt went off on a journey to 39 countries on seven continents.  Underwritten by a gum company.  And all he had to do was get in front of a camera and dance somewhat badly.  Nice work if you can get it.

If you want to see him doing his little dance in front of the ruins of Macchu Picchu in Peru, atop the sand dunes of Namibia, with a turtle in the Galapagos Islands, with villagers in Rwanda, or at any one of several dozen other places around the world, you can check out his website. You can also read an interview with him in the Washington Post. An excerpt:

Which places were the most difficult to dance in?

The hardest dance was on the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. I spent nine hours climbing up to the peak, I vomited eight times on the way up and I just had nothing left by the time I got up there. The most complicated to shoot was underwater in Micronesia, diving in front of the propeller of a Japanese shipwreck that was sunk in World War II. That was complicated because I discovered that you can’t talk to the camera person when you are underwater. And the most terrifying was on the Kjeragbolten rock in Norway; it’s just a tiny rock wedged between two faces of a chasm 3,000 feet up and only a few feet across. Dancing on that rock, yeah, I came very close to killing myself.

Were people inspired to join in your dance?

The only time that happened was in Rwanda. I went out to this village and started dancing, without any explanation of what I was doing. As soon as I started dancing, kids started joining in, and within a couple minutes, all the kids in the village had circled around and we were all dancing together.

Would you encourage people to go tour the world and do a little dance?

Absolutely. It proves the point that I did want to show, which was that there’s really nowhere you can’t get to in a small amount of time. We’re all stuck here together on this small planet.

The Boston Globe yesterday ran an article about a man named Solomon Murungu, who teaches Americans about Zimbabwean and African culture partly by utilizing the mbira, “a musical instrument of the Shona people in his home country.”  His presentations have been so popular that he formed an organization called Zambuko Projects Unlimited to serve as an umbrella for his educational programs.

In Murungu’s mind, Zambuko can help break the barriers and show how many things the American and African cultures have in common. He calls his organization Zambuko because the word means “bridge” in the Shona language.

“My own experience with people [in the US is] they were very American-centric,” says Murungu. “No experience with the outside world. I felt that by exposing them to another culture, being able to appreciate another culture, they’ll be more likely to open up not just to me but to other Africans and other non-Americans.”

Music may be the international language, but some heavy metal bands are making themselves heard in surprising countries and in unexpected ways.  The Washington Post has a story today about some Saudi musicians who play “doom metal.”  Of course, they often do it surreptitiously, and the band leader doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, sips tea with his bandmates, and still prays five times a day in the Muslim tradition.

Meanwhile, Lordi, a Finnish “death metal” band whose members are never seen in public without horror masks on their faces, just pulled a suprise victory in the popular Eurovision song contest.  It was the first Eurovision victory for Finland and for a heavy metal song.  As FP Passport put it:

Yes, the land of the midnight sun, naked saunas, salty licorice, and Santa Claus … has pulled a major upset and beaten out the rest of the continent. 

Heavy metal from reserved, sauna-loving Finns and from religious, tea-drinking Saudis.  Globalization gets more interesting all the time!

Was American blues music born in West Africa?  Some people think so.  In any case, there’s a thriving music scene in Mali.